


like horses in war

by kingsoftheimpossible



Series: take me to the church [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blood, Codependency, Conflict Resolution, Jealousy, Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:29:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/pseuds/kingsoftheimpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things catch up with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like horses in war

**Author's Note:**

> "It was the year he began to wonder about the noise that colors make.  
> Roses came roaring across the garden at him.  
> He lay on his bed at night listening to the silver light of stars crashing against the window screen.  
> Most  
> of those he interviewed for the science project had to admit they did not hear  
> the cries of the roses  
> being burned alive in the noonday sun.  
>  _Like horses_ , Geryon would say helpfully,  
>  _like horses in war._ "  
> from _Autobiography of Red_ by Anne Carson

“Can we stop for awhile? Do something? Just us?”

Louis squints at him, eyes going razor sharp in a second. “What, you want to rent a fancy hotel room? Fuck on a plush bed? _Make love?_ ” His voice goes sickly sweet at the end and he flutters his eyelashes mockingly. They've been cooped up in the car for eight days. Running.

“Just tired,” Harry says, because he is. Too tired for this argument, for the restless tapping of his own fingers on the steering wheel. Too tired for the way Louis’ face falls infinitesimally before he steels himself and grins again, eyes sliding away from Harry’s face like he’s not even there.

“Alright. Whatever you want.”

Louis doesn’t like stopping. Harry doesn’t either, really, but he needs to sometimes. They both do, he thinks wearily, watching Louis’ knee shake violently in the corner of his vision. Harry’s just better at admitting it.

There’s a town a few miles ahead, bigger than places they’d normally pull over. But the first motel looks like an oasis after forty years in the desert, and Harry swerves the car into the lot so recklessly that Louis’ skull bounces against the window.

He hisses swears between his teeth, rubbing at the side of his head and glaring across the car at Harry.

“Fucker,” he spits, and Harry grimaces, glancing away as he pulls the keys from the ignition. He hadn't meant to, really. Mostly. It's hard to tell. They've been circling like wild dogs for days, years, feels like.

“I’ll get us a room,” Harry mumbles instead of an apology. Louis makes to get out and follow him into the lobby, but Harry hesitates. “Just- wait here, yeah? I don’t feel like trouble today.”

He sees it hit home, Louis' eyes widen and then narrow into poisonous little slits. "Well if I'm too much _trouble_ -"

Harry hadn't meant it like that, except for how he had. He leaves Louis prodding at the tender lump forming on his forehead and shoulders through the glass door and into the motel lobby. He's brought up short by the familiar face behind the desk.

"Knew you fuckers'd drop by sooner or later," says the perky blond, and Harry's jaw feels like its resting on the floor.

Niall's a strange thing. Harry's never quite figured out what side he's on, but then again he supposes he's not sure what side he and Louis are on either a few millennia out. Maybe they're all destined to meet in the middle.

"You look like shit," Niall says warmly, grinning. "Could hear Louis' whiny arse from fifty miles away."

"So you've been waiting." Harry feels dumb and slow, can't make seeing _Niall_ here in the middle of nowhere America make any fucking sense. He needs Louis' quick wits to unravel all this, needs Louis to take care of it while Harry sits back and lets it happen.

Too fucking tired. Billions of years like a millstone around his neck.

The little tinkly bell above the door rings and Harry doesn't even need to turn around, could predict Louis' "What's taking so fucking long?" like a newscaster reciting the weather. He feels it when Louis sees Niall, the way the air in the room condenses into _waiting._

"No fucking way." Louis bounds across the room and pulls Niall over the desk until they're wrapped around each other laughing and Harry's still just. Watching. Stupid. He's not used to watching Louis touch other people, not used to Louis paying attention to anyone else. It feels like being jerked out of his body, like he's watching the whole scene from behind a glass screen.

Louis and Niall are grinning, hands brushing each other's faces, eyes sweeping over features like they're the most fascinating things either has ever seen. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Louis demands, fingers sneaking under Niall's shirt to pinch at his pale ribs. Harry's eyes get caught on the point of contact, only pulled away when Niall's hand tracks down Louis' side and curls gently around his hip.

"Waiting for you two dumbfucks, obviously," Niall says easily, squeezing Louis' hip and turning to look at Harry as well. Harry's not really expecting the attention, doesn't have time to school his face into anything other than an unsettled scowl. It doesn't seem to bother Niall, who just laughs a bit before slinging an arm around Louis' neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "We've got business to discuss, boys."

* * *

If Niall was a surprise, Zayn and Liam are a kick to the fucking sack. Zayn, particularly, is not something Harry knows how to deal with, especially when Louis screeches with joy and curls himself so closely around Zayn's body that Harry can't tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Liam is a bit easier- Harry remembers Liam, was created nearer the same time. Liam's gentle and soft, easy to look at, familiar like he hasn't changed a bit since they stepped into the light together at the dawn of the world. 

Harry settles lightly on the chair Niall offers him, feeling bare on his own while Louis sits contently in Zayn's lap, whispering into his ear while Zayn's hands run up and down his back.

Other people touching Louis is really, really confusing, apparently. Harry feels lightheaded. 

"Welp," Niall says, once they're all settled around a tiny table in the backroom of the motel check-in, "you two've gone and fucked things up."

Harry blinks, startled, and Louis tears his mouth away from Zayn's ear long enough to glare over at Niall. "What the fuck does that mean?" he asks, nose scrunched up, and Niall purses his lips, trying not to laugh.

Liam steps in, fingers steepled while he looks down at the table. "You've gone a bit off the rails in recent years. Attracted the attention of the big man downstairs-"

"And upstairs," Zayn adds, head resting against Louis' shoulder. 

Harry's sort of- floating. He'd forgotten, somewhere along the line, that the things they did mattered. That someone, somewhere, might be watching.

Louis sniffs, turning his nose into the air like he isn't bothered. "Good of us to give them something to look at when everything's so fucking boring all the time," he says haughtily, and Harry frowns a bit because things aren't always boring. He likes what they do, most of the time. Can't remember being bored with Louis at his side- restless, maybe, wanting, but not bored.

"It's serious, Lou," Zayn murmurs, dropping his forehead to butt against Louis' shoulder, and Louis actually listens,  starts frowning in that pissy, twitchy way that means he's nervous. 

Harry blinks. Louis never listens to anyone else.

"You two need to lay low," Niall cuts in, meeting Harry's eyes across the table. "It isn't time for the end of the world yet and you're running around breaking Hell loose every week or so like the trumpets have already blown. It's pissing the powers that be well off."

"Who cares," Louis grumbles, but he doesn't sound as if he means it. He looks a bit pale, fingers tight where they're wrapped up in Zayn's shirt.

"Just stay here a few days," Liam says kindly. "Talk about it for a while. We've missed you two, you know, while you've been off wreaking havoc."

Louis smiles demurely, fluttering his eyelashes in Liam's direction in a way that is terribly, terribly suggestive, in Harry's opinion. "Missed all of you, too, obviously."

It's weird, because Louis' never really mentioned missing them, but Harry also believes him when he says it. He feels it sometimes, a phantom tugging in his own gut while he watches Louis stare blankly at the horizon over the dashboard. He gets so faraway, and Harry can't really follow because he doesn't know the rest of them the way Louis does- he was created and then they fucked off out of the Garden together and they never really looked back. Time worked strangely- not at all, sometimes- so Harry's never really been sure how much Louis lived before they met. They don't talk about it. That feels strange, now, seeing these relics from their past, the way Louis slides into the middle of them all so easily and Harry can't stop thinking about that long enough to even say hello. 

"Rest up," Niall says, "you two are exhausted."

Harry hadn't been exhausted, but he suddenly is when Niall says it. Louis kisses Zayn's face and slides out of his lap, pinches Liam's nipple as he passes, and Harry stands unsteadily, following Niall and Louis out of the room.

* * *

The room Niall gives them isn't the nicest one they've ever stayed, but it's not the worst. There are two twin beds, but they're pushed together in the center of the floor, and Niall gives Harry a wink before he clicks the door shut behind him, leaving them alone. They don't say anything, which isn't entirely unusual- they've had a _lot_ of time together. They don't always need to speak.

It would be nice though, now, Harry thinks, now that they've got this ax hanging over their heads, this bombshell waiting to drop.

He watches Louis flop down onto the bed and spread like a starfish, fingers and toes brushing the edges of the sheets. It feels strangely fragile when he knees up on the bed beside him, curls up as small as he can to rest his head on Louis' chest, tucked into the space beneath one of his arms.

"'m tired," Louis mumbles, yawning dramatically and huffing a laugh. "Getting old, aren't we, H?"

Harry hums, burying his face between Louis' side and the mattress, breathing in shakily. "Never old," he says, barely loud enough for Louis to hear.

He does hear though, makes a gentle tutting noise and rests a hand in Harry's hair, pets at him clumsily as he's nearly half-asleep already. "You're a good one, Styles. Might keep you, yet."

It would usually be funny.

* * *

No one specifically _says_ they think Harry and Louis should go their separate ways. It's just there somehow, in the way Liam bites his lip when they shuffle into breakfast together, in the way Zayn is always pulling Louis away to smoke or whisper or touch, the way Niall just watches and laughs and looks Harry in the eye, like a challenge.

Harry wants to ask them what they're all getting at, why it matters, what it would change if Harry were off by himself or with Niall, if Louis spent a hundred years fucking around with Liam and Zayn. He wants to ask, but he doesn't really want the answer because he already knows.

There was a track at some point, he thinks, watching Louis wrestling with Liam while Niall brings in a pitcher of beer. There was a track, and they went off it- he's not sure when, but there was a time when they didn't burn down churches, when they'd never played a game with people's lives. The others don't do those things, still, and they've been living outside the Garden nearly as long.

But it's something about Louis- or something about _Harry and Louis_ together. They're invincible, or Harry'd always thought so, since the beginning. It just got hard to live with after a while, burning itch under their skin- how much they could do together. The power they had. It had to be used or they'd burn out, felt like.

Maybe they'd been lying to themselves. 

* * *

 

 The ceiling fan spins lazily and Harry watches it, eyes locked on the swinging easy rhythm while he speaks. "Do you think- should we split up for awhile? Like the others? Give ourselves a break?"

The room is so still and silent, it feels like no one's ever made a sound in it since the dawn of time. It's stupid and childish, but it _hurts_ a bit that Louis doesn't immediately scoff and start cursing up a storm. If Louis thinks there's something to the idea, if he even _has_ to think about it-

Harry starts to panic, heart-rate kicking up. 

"Could we?" Louis murmurs, turning onto his side so they could be facing, if Harry could just make himself move. "Could you imagine a world like that?"

Truthfully, Harry can't. Doesn't even know where to start. His chest aches. "I wanted you to say no," he says, instead of answering. He isn't going to cry because that's stupid, and because he can't remember the last time he cried from anything that wasn't good feeling. 

"I know," Louis murmurs.

* * *

 

"I don't remember what I was before you called my name," Louis admits softly. It feels like a hundred years have passed. The minute hand of the analog clock above the door has barely moved. 

"I wasn't anything," Harry says. His throat's dry. He wishes they were touching but he knows they shouldn't right now. "There was just you. All the light, and the coming into being, and you were there already. Made for me."

Louis hums, lets it slide this once. "I don't think we split up. I don't think that's our story."

"I wouldn't even know how," Harry admits uneasily. His chest aches fiercely, a joy that's almost like rage now that Louis' made a decision of some kind- maybe not the right one, but the only one they'd be able to live with. "I don't know how we turned into this."

He feels Louis tense up, the slight twitch of the mattress beneath him giving him away. "It was me, I think," he says, "You know how I get." 

"I shouldn't let you get that way," Harry insists, finally turning on his side to look at Louis. He's missed him, even just now, even just half an hour spent in the same room but not looking at him. He can't imagine how he's managed to drive days at a time lately without looking over at the passenger seat. "It was both of us- if anything."

Louis hums, turning his face into the sheets and breathing evenly for a while. He's so much to look at. All the time in the world hasn't been nearly enough. 

"So what do we do?" he asks, biting at the mattress in frustration. "I don't know how to lay low with you. We'll leave here and we'll forget- we'll lose control again, fuck around and bring the wrath of heaven and hell down on our heads. Or whatever."

Harry nearly laughs. It's so serious, the threat of being wiped from existence or held captive on separate planes or any of the unimaginable things that could be done to them. But it's so easy to forget all that, even now, already, just watching Louis scowl petulantly at the sheets like this hotel bed is the reason they're in so much trouble. "You'd never let anything happen to me," Harry says, so certainly that he even surprises himself a bit. "You never have."

"You're trying to turn me into a fucking sap, Harry Styles." Louis is grinning, pressing his face hard into the bed like that'll hide anything, muffle the fondness in his voice. He takes a deep breath before turning to look at Harry, pulling one of his hands up so it's resting on the bed between them, pinkie extended in offering. "So we doing this, then? Me and you?"

Harry's heart skips, feels like it's singing in his chest. "Don't ever want to do anything else," he murmurs, smiling when he wraps his pinkie around Louis'. They curl their fingers tight for a second before breaking away, Louis rolling over until he's spread-eagle over Harry's chest, looking down at him pleased as he's ever been. 

"What'll we tell the others?" Harry asks, doesn't even care about the answer because it's so good having the familiar, warm weight of Louis pinning him down. 

"Tell 'em to fuck off, won't we?" Louis ducks down and kisses him once, soft, before rolling away, reaching over the edge of the bed and digging around in his overnight bag while Harry just stares at the ceiling and glows. Louis comes back a moment later brandishing his pocketknife and grinning like mad, eyebrows raised in a question.

It isn't  _really_ a question, though, because Harry immediately loses his breath and pushes his own hands over his head, gripping the headboard and holding his body taught and exquisitely still. He says, "Yes, yes, yes," just so it's clear, just so Louis knows he's always, always ready.

He shivers when Louis cackles and pushes his shirt up underneath his armpits, flips the knife open in a graceful, easy way that sends light glinting off the blade, makes Harry's blood pulse heavy and thick in his veins. 

"Been a while since we've done this," Louis observes, eyes tracing over the litter of scars on Harry's chest and belly, searching out a blank space. 

He's right- Harry can't remember a time Louis went longer without marking him up. He's never gone without stinging fresh cuts, never had to think too hard about which initials were the newest, could always feel the scabs pulling at his skin every time he moved. He wonders how they didn't realize so much time had passed.

Louis' humming happily, tracing the blade so delicately over Harry's trembling abs that it tickles,  leaves him biting his lip hard so he won't laugh. "Here?" Louis asks innocently, digging the blade tip in just slightly right under Harry's left pec. He taps the end of the knife so it nearly breaks the skin, smiling slyly when Harry's breath catches at the sharp pinprick of pain. "Ooooor....here?" he murmurs, sliding the knife away, down until it's pressed along the sloping v of muscles just above the line of Harry's jeans. The skin's so sensitive that he hisses, eyes watering when Louis digs the blade in.

"There," Harry urges, hips rolling up just slightly, enough to press the blade in and draw blood. Louis takes the blade away and wipes his finger over the little drop, smearing it away and rubbing it into Harry's skin so that he's got a clean canvas. 

"Leave a mark or no?" he asks, tapping Harry's cheek gently with his fingers so he'll look away from the knife and meet Louis' eyes. It hits him again, how long it's been since Louis asked him that-  _shallow enough to heal or deep enough to stay forever, up to you_. It's such an easy, obvious decision to say yes this time- he wants to remember this, how they're together because they're together. How he'd never have it any other way. 

"Please," he says, polite and smiling because Louis likes it when he's polite. 

And Louis really does like it. He beams, leaning down quickly to press a kiss to Harry's cheek, then his mouth, before drawing away and wiping the knife-blade clean on his own jeans. 

"Such good manners," Louis laughs, spinning the knife lazily in his fingers. Harry could watch him do that forever, never gets tired of watching the steel wrap like silk around Louis hands. He rolls his hips up again, raising his eyebrows pointedly at the spot they'd picked out. Louis snorts, face scrunching up and he's so, so cute. "Yeah, yeah, hold your horses."

When Louis finally gets around to carving the first letter, it's like an electric shock, and Harry's whole body shakes before going absolutely still. Louis murmurs  _good,_ straddling Harry's thighs and bending low over his belly, left hand spread over his skin to stretch it firm and right drawing the knife in deep, sharp, sure lines- lines he's made hundreds of times before, Harry thinks, dazed. 

He feels it when the  _L_ is finished, and he shuts his eyes to breathe and let it sink in while Louis leans back to examine his work. "Prettiest skin in the whole world," Louis says proudly, tracing his fingers gently over the deep cut, wiping the blood clear with his left hand so Harry's quivering stomach is smeared red with it. 

The  _T_ goes smoothly, and Harry's brows are furrowed against the mix of sting and good, the way his pulse has slowed to something heavy and quiet, centering between his legs because Louis is touching him, focused on nothing but him, and that's always been the best thing he's ever felt. 

"Three left," Louis says absently, dropping his left hand to tap gently at the bulge in Harry's jeans. "Think you'll make it?" He's teasing, leaning close enough to his cutting that his breath is tickling Harry's hip. 

"'m good," Harry slurs back, tongue thick in his mouth.

"Course you are, babe." The _&_ always hurts the worst and takes the longest, Louis' flourishing curves burning like fire as he carves them carefully in. "You're shaking," he notes happily, re-tracing one of the lines so that Harry lets out the breath he's been holding in a sharp gasp. He  _is_ shaking, fingers spasming where they're trying to keep a tight hold on the headboard, hips pressing up into nothing in frantic little circles he can't stop. Louis laughs a soft, "You're so easy," when he starts on the _H_ and Harry whines.

"Just for you," Harry mumbles, because it's true and because he wants Louis to make him come, butter him up so he does the  _S_ nice and hard, gives Harry's dick something to work with. 

Louis smirks, flicking his eyes up to meet Harry's. "Think you're so slick," he chuckles, but he leans down to tongue at the fresh cuts until the pain's so sharp that Harry chokes and comes, and then Louis' drawing it out by finally carving the  _S._

"Fuck," Harry grumbles, trying to twist out of Louis' hold because the blade is a bit much with the front of his jeans soaked and Louis giggling like a fucking maniac on top of him. 

"Stay  _still,"_ Louis snaps, slapping the open wounds so that Harry gasps and stills, glaring down at him.

"Well if you weren't taking your sweet time," he starts, but his voice is so croaky and wrecked that it just makes Louis laugh harder.

"Too easy, Harry Styles," Louis says fondly, finishing up the final letter with a kiss to Harry's hip. There's a bit of Harry's blood smeared over his lips and chin, on his tongue, Harry knows, and he's happy when Louis leans down and kisses him again, gentle, gentle, gentle.

He sits back to examine his work again, smiling down at the letters and petting them absently, eyes a million miles away. It's not a bad feeling though. He's still heavy on Harry's thighs, warm and present and all the good things. If he needs to be off in his own head awhile, Harry can give him that, as long as he comes back. 

* * *

 

They leave a day later, say goodbye to Zayn and Niall and Liam. The other three don't look particularly surprised or disappointed that they aren't really taking their advice. It was an intervention that no one really expected to work, Harry supposes.

"Lay low," Niall warns again, leaning through the open car window so he's barely an inch from Harry's face. "I'll raise hell if you two get yourselves in trouble," he says seriously, then cackles in a way that is truly and honestly disconcerting. Harry makes a mental note to finally ask Louis about Niall, what he is, where he's from. 

"Stay safe," Liam says earnestly, tapping his knuckles on the hood and smiling at them both, eyes crinkled into near-slits. 

"Don't be fucking stupid," Zayn says flatly, leaning through the window on Louis' side and grabbing him by the jaw, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Louis turns the oddest shade of pink, and Harry can't even be jealous, just charmed. Zayn leans around Louis to look at Harry, and Harry blinks, surprised. "Be good, yeah?" Zayn suggests, but it's more of a command somehow.

"Okay," Harry and Louis say in unison, blinking stupidly. 

They're miles down the road before they snap out of it, blinking at each other over the console. "Zayn's something else," Harry says after a moment, trying to figure out where the last half-hour has gone.

"Mmm," Louis hums contently, dropping his open hand palm-up in the empty space between them. Harry takes it, shaking his head to clear whatever's left of the brain fog Zayn caused. 

* * *

 

They drive for days and days, past churches and gas stations and fields, never stopping for more time than it takes to fill up the tank and stretch their legs. 

"Laying low isn't so bad," Louis says one afternoon, when they've been driving towards the sun for what feels like hours and the car's so hot they're both sweating and sliding on the leather seats. Louis' wearing his huge sunglasses, but Harry can still see the flat, unimpressed expression on his face.

Harry snorts, turning his face away so Louis won't see the grin fighting its way onto his lips. "It's not even been a week since you promised the others we'd be good," he points out, but he feels it, too, the restless ticking of his pulse. He reaches over to squeeze Louis' thigh with his free hand, comforting.

"Being good is stupid," Louis grumbles, but he turns the A/C on full blast and settles back against his seat, trapping Harry's hand under his own and kicking his feet up on the dash. "Let's do  _something,"_ he says finally, like he's giving in. 

"We could go to the Grand Canyon," Harry suggests, lips pressed tight once it's out because he can just imagine Louis' disbelieving face, doesn't even have to look over at him. 

"It's a fucking hole in the ground, Harry," Louis says sourly, crossing his arms over his chest. "If I wanted to see a fucking hole in the ground, I'd blow something up."

"But we're being good," Harry reminds him, biting his cheek and trying so hard not to laugh. 

Louis groans like he's dying, kicking his feet against the dashboard and writhing like a snake in his seat, but he finally tires himself out and flops down in defeat, leaning across the console so he's half in Harry's lap. "Fine," he sighs. "Take me to the fucking boring hole in the fucking boring ground, Harry Styles." 

Harry finally laughs, poking at Louis' sides until he's laughing, too. They head west on the next interstate. 

 


End file.
